


Troll Tolls for the Toll Troll

by wanderingaddict



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types, Greek and Roman Mythology, Pathfinder (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Anal, Anal Sex, Faun - Freeform, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Oral Sex, Satyr, Troll - Freeform, bridge-troll
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 13:19:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17982065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingaddict/pseuds/wanderingaddict
Summary: A randy satyr, hard-up and looking for release, makes a deal with a very well-endowed troll looking to collect a toll.





	Troll Tolls for the Toll Troll

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ShadowKnight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowKnight/gifts).



> Takes place in an original DnD/Pathfinder campaign setting where humans are rare and the players are all forest fey. 
> 
> I also really wanted to write about horny satyrs going after big fat troll dick. Enjoy!

Even though the day was bright, the birds were out and singing, and the whole week promised to continue with the same great, balmy weather, Firvain couldn't help but be in the foulest of moods. Being a Queen's Herald was something that he took great pride in, and was one of the few things the satyr did with the utmost attention to detail. His badge of office always shown, his messenger bag was always protected, and – most importantly of all – his schedule never ran late. He even made the extra effort to plan for the occasional dalliance along each route – he was a satyr, after all, and the bevy of young lads and lasses (or their fetching parents) was one of the single greatest unspoken perks of his job.

Like most fey, he was dedicated to the Queen, even if that oath did sometimes run contrary to his free-spirited nature. Still, the Forest Queen had long-proved to be the wisest and greatest of all those who would rule the Highwood, and even if she was unusually strict and focused with her subjects and her kingdom, Firvain dreaded to think where the Highwood would be without her.

Also like most fey, and satyrs in particular, he felt a stirring in his blood whenever he remained in one place for too long. Unlike most satyrs, however, he was committed – heart and soul - to being a herald. Not just any herald either, but a damn good one, if not one of the best.

So it stood to reason that having foolishly squandered all the days he'd set aside for common dalliances – without having actually succeeded at said dalliance – was a sore in his mouth equivalent to that of a sprite stuck in an ogre's craw.

Six of them. Six brawny, clean-shaved, charismatic men, all of them sporting some of the prettiest cocks he'd ever seen – even if they were uncomfortably circumcised – and not one of them let him so much as get his mouth around one of their dicks. Sure they'd pretended and played coy, letting his hands wander before pulling away, or sneaking a kiss and a squeeze of his erection when they thought no one was looking, but not one them was willing to go further!

The satyr nearly growled, his hooves clacking furiously as he loped down the road. "Cock-sure paladins," he spat, "Can't even throw a guy a fuck before they go." Firvain's face continued to twist. He prayed that Sylvanavar took them in the woods. Those human bastards had left him worse-off than before he'd met them! At least if he'd continued right past them he wouldn't have so many tempting images of their pretty human cocks slapping against their legs when they got dressed each morning - much less feeling their fingers poke curiously at his hole whenever they'd embraced him at night, he added ruefully.

Just one tug-job. Just a couple fingers stuffed in his hole while he jerked off. That's all he fucking needed, something those human assholes had almost been willing to do, and not one of those smiling, goody-flat-feet paladins had been willing to so much as offer. He hoped they pissed off the next batch of pixies they stumbled across. Those little flitting pranksters could make life hell, and at that moment, he couldn't think of anyone more deserving than those coy, holy-and-virtuous teases.

At least the highway he loped down was in better condition than he'd seen in years. Allowing humans to settle deeper regions of the forest did tend to mean they kept much better care of the kingdom's infrastructure than any of Firvain's fellow fey did. Humans were also surprisingly easy on the eyes – and often did not mind the attention of a satyr... save for those few times when their infuriating hang-ups about sex reared their ugly heads.

Reminded of the paladins who'd left him blue-balled that morning, Firvain decided he would rather see the entire race cast into the sun.

The red-headed satyr made excellent time, turning most of his anger into energy. By the time the sun neared midday, his freckled shoulders had a light sheen of sweat and he was about ready for a breather. And maybe a quick tug. He looked down and pulled on his cock, peeling back the foreskin and squeezing hard to make it swell. Definitely in the mood for a tug, he thought, but then somehow both hands found their way to his firm, sparsely-furred buttocks. He squeezed each cheek independently, then let his fingers just slip between them to tease his hole. The satyr's red, goat-like tail arched with his shudder.

Maybe more than a tug, he added mentally. His fingers went a little deeper, pushing against his tightly-clenched rim, and he bit his lip. From what he could remember of the last time he was here, there was a river up ahead. Maybe he could take some time in the water. Cool off, so to speak.

Energized at the thought, Firvain set off once more. Soon enough the burbling river came into sight – the river, and something else. Something new, promising even. A bridge had been raised, connecting the two rocky banks. New-built too, within the year, he guessed. Strange construction, though. Not human, nor halfling or dwarf. Most of it was a jumble of massive logs, bent into place, with heavy slabs of stone laid across the top. Maybe one of the druid circles, or one of the centaur tribes? Firvain had to admit that his curiosity was quite piqued. As rough as the bridge looked, the hefty gray slabs interlocked, the railing was sturdy, and – if he had to guess – a flood would actually be forced to flow around it. Whoever built it, they knew what bridges were about.

A sign before the bridge had "Please wait for toll" scrawled across it in a very crude hand, but otherwise there wasn't any sign of a bridge-keeper... or anyone at all for that matter.

"Forest Queen's grace to the bridge!" the satyr called. He waited, but there was no response. He glanced at the sign once more, tapped his hoof impatiently, then started across the bridge. While he appreciated the hard work put in, he also was really feeling the urge to rut. His erection had yet to go down, and he was finding that no amount of tugging would satisfy it. Unless there was a fat-dicked merman in the river, he doubted that any amount of splashing would fix it either.

In the off-chance that there _was_ a merman in the water, he walked to the middle of the railing and peered over.

Nothing. Figured.

Firvain stomped a hoof on the stone, the noise surprisingly loud. A huge, knobby hand shot up up and grasped the railing, then, followed by thumping noises as somebody hauled themselves out from some sort of nook under the bridge. The creature‘s great, wiry figure soon followed, a good two feet taller than the satyr, green-skinned and axe-faced, swinging up over the railing, sopping wet and dripping. 

Naked too. His manhood hung impressively long, with a droopy foreskin, and it _clacked_ against his legs as he moved. Firvain felt his whole body quiver at the thought of getting his mouth around it. 

"Yeh thinking to sneak across?“ the huge man growled, wringing out a wet brown bit of leather Firvain realized was a loincloth. He rolled his cock under his equally mouth-watering balls, full, wrinkly, and green, to try and keep all his bits in place as he dressed. "Didn't yeh see the sign? It says to wait for the troll," 

Firvain's gaze followed the bounce of the man's – the troll's – girthy penis as he hurriedly tied his loincloth in place. "I thought it said wait for the toll." 

"That too." The troll finished and put his hands on his hips in what was probably supposed to be a menacing pose, but Firvain was too busy appreciating how little the troll's leather pouch left to the imagination. Whoever got to be on the receiving end of that slab of meat was a very, very lucky person. A distant part of his brain processed what the troll said, however, and made him think back to the what he'd read on the sign.

The white marks around the words had been intentional, Firvain realized. Clever too. He didn't bother to hide his appraisal of the tall, lanky man. "A troll toll for the toll troll then?" he asked after a moment, his eyes glinting.

The troll wasn't having any of it. He squared himself in the middle of the bridge and crossed his arms. "A bridge toll, yeh little git. Yer not walking 'cross me."

Firvain didn't want to. His eyes locked on the green man's sloppy loincloth. The scraggly piece of leather wasn't doing much to keep the troll's substantial cock protected; not that it was the loincloth's fault,the satyr decided. The damn thing was so long that it was only the troll's cumbersome nuts trapping the head beneath them that kept in from falling out. The herald took a deep breath in anticipation, then put on his most winning smile. He turned and admired the railing, jutting his pert buttocks out in the process. "Is this your bridge then? I've always been impressed by how quick you trolls can get it up."

It took a moment for the troll to respond. The sharp-nosed man eyed him warily, clearly expecting the satyr to try and dash past him. When the red-headed herald just lazed against the railing, the troll finally responded. "Slowest part was getting that damn Forest Queen to give me a site. Never knew any of the fae could be so careful as that one."

"She made you swear an oath of fealty I take it." Firvain's words had an edge to them. There was a reason Her rule was unchallenged.

"Aye." Warming up to the conversation – having lacked company for a good while – the troll elaborated. "Not as bad as some, though. Certainly better than any of the warlords'd take back home."

That didn't make sense. There weren't any warlords in the High Forest! Firvain wrenched his gaze from the man's cock and reappraised him. The green-skinned man was far paler than any of the dark, dun and swamp-colored trolls he'd seen before. The man was lankier too, with fuller hair and an elfin cast to his face. The satyr had at first simply thought that there was a bit of fae blood in him, but now he could tell it was something different. There was an odd cast to his features – more akin to the merfolk than to fae. "You don't look like any of the trolls from Blackmarsh."

The man's biceps bulged apealingly when he crossed his arms under his chest. "'Cause I ain't from Blackmarsh. I came down over the Spellwarps last year." He jerked his head towards the north.

That certainly placed the troll's rolling accent. "From over the Spellwarps?" To the herald's knowledge, there wasn't anything but but ocean on the other side of those mountains. "Rough place, that coast. Nothing but cliffs. And unusual trolls, apparently."

"My dam was a tough slag that shacked up with merrow fer farr months outta each year. Get a little merrow blood in the veins and even a soft demi-fey like you could survive in those crags," the troll explained gesturing to the herald with one of his long-fingered, sizable hands.

Actually, Firvain was full-blood fey, and without a drop of demihuman blood at all, but he didn't bother to correct the axe-faced man. The satyr was far more interested in studying the troll's strangely attractive form.

"Merrow blood?" he breathed. The troll just grunted assent. The odd cast to the man's features – the elongated ears, the thick, sea-green hair, and his clear skin – did make a lot more sense with that bit of information. And made the troll that much more enticing; Firvain'd had troll before, and while a tolerable experience, nothing he was particularly interested in trying again. This exotic man, however, he was willing to bet would be a far cry from the rutting hicks a satyr would normally find in the swamps. He might even have to make a point of finding a full-blood merrow to compare this troll to – if the man before him was any indication of the species, they weren't hard on the eyes at all.

"Is that why you're so much smoother than the trolls around here?" the satyr continued, his tail swinging in excitement as he stepped deep into the massive man's personal space and spread his hands across the troll's narrow chest.

To his credit, the man barely tensed, not even when Firvain lovingly stroked the underside of both bulging pectorals. "What yeh getting at?" the sharp-nosed troll muttered, his eyes narrowing.

Decidedly pleased with his progress so far, the satyr decided to push for more. He dragged both hands down the long man's strangely tapered waist and groped the troll's hips and thighs. "You don't have any warts, or any of those knotty growths Blackmarsh trolls get. Is it the salt water that does a body good?"

"Merrows heal cleaner. Been told merrows got elf-blood in them at some point – pro'lly accounts fer why I'm so pretty too." The look on the troll's face was inscrutable; Firvain couldn't tell if the man was flirting with him or not. Not that it would stop him – the satyr blithely took it as just another invitation to snag more.

Firvain's gaze fell to bulging loincloth. "I take it then that the merrow blood is what makes this so big?" He hooked his finger through the side of it, letting the troll's prodigous, pale-green length fall out. "Or is it all you?" he asked, dragging the same hand under the full length of the shaft in order to judge its true size.

The troll masterfully controlled his twitch at the touch of the satyr's fingers to his cock, but Firvain still noticed. He also noticed the meaty weight of the thing – it felt like lifting a brick! The man seemed almost at a loss for what to do until the satyr brazenly massaged the doubly-thick tip of the shaft. He batted Firvain's hand away with a growl.

"All me. Flattery is nice, demi, but yeh ain't packing the size, tits, and green skin I like. Where's my toll." The suddenly demanding tone and hurried straightening to his full height made it clear the troll had been unnerved.

Still not a demi, but again the satyr let that slide because he got to appreciate the troll's struggle to stuff his too-big shaft into his loincloth. Then the satyr hefted his messenger bag, drawing attention to the bright green, metalwork badge on the middle of the chest-strap.

"Heralds don't pay tolls," Firvain said smugly. His eyes danced.

"Fish-fucker!" The troll swore punching his fist into his meaty thigh. The violent motion made his dick swing free of its pouch and slap against his leg. The satyr licked his lips and found himself wondering what color the merrow-troll's glans was under that pale green foreskin.

Uncaring - or perhaps unaware – of the spill, the troll continued to sputter. "So yer what a herald is? Do all yeh all got the fur and the boner and the bag?"

Firvain reached down to tug at his stiff rod. "The bag, yes. The fur is part of being a satyr and the boner comes from seeing something I like."He pulled his foreskin back and waggled his cock at the troll.

Looming over the satyr, the green-skinned man's angular face turned flat. "I told yeh, I ain't interested in playing with yer dick. If yer not paying a toll, get on yer way." Completely frustrated, the man stepped away and made to push past Firvain.

He caught the troll's smooth, hairless thigh with his left hand, recklessly sliding his hand deep enough that he could feel the heat of the troll's nuts against his fingers. "Hey now, I never said I wasn't interested in something like a trade."

The troll, still towering the much shorter satyr, stopped. "Say what?" he napped. Firvain took another opportunity to fondle the sea-green-haired troll's balls, then let go to reach into his herald-bag. He pulled out a large shank of mutton – his emergency supply for when he met fat-dicked winter wolves, or whatever else he could bribe with food in exchange for a fuck. Usually worked like a charm, especially with those creatures that shunned fire themselves.

"Smoked mutton. Whole leg, salted and smoked just two days ago. Smells good, makes a mouth water, right?" The satyr pantomimed nibbling the mutton leg, but his eyes kept switching back to the troll's long, thick-set cock. His own mouth was certainly watering, at least.

"Don't got anything to offer yeh," the troll said, after a moment. "Just got some fish I caught this morning. Can't tell yeh otherwise, demi."

Firvain struggled to keep his face from betraying him. About the only way this could have gone better was if the troll offered his hole to the satyr on his own... but Firvain was content to simply tap the leg of mutton against the troll's broad chest.

"Meat for you," the satyr drawled as he reached out with his free hand to grasp what dangled between the merrow-blooded monster's legs. To the satyr's delight, his target didn't even flinch. Instead he just let out a sharp breath and watched. The troll's weighty cock – even soft – filled his hand. Firvain grinned and tugged, pulling its thick foreskin back to reveal the dark green head. "Meat for me."

"I ain't lettin' yeh cut off my root," the troll grunted, swatting Firvain's hand away but not bothering to tuck his flaring dick back in its pouch.

Firvain's face twisted in horror. "What in Sylvanavar's name would I want your dick cut off for!" he exclaimed. 

"Whatever yeh dipshit-demis' want troll-root for. 'the fuck should I know?" the troll spat. He crossed his arms imposingly, but Firvain was more focused on how the action made his long dick sway. The troll growled. "I ain't doin' it again."

"Again? You mean you've done it before?" Curious, the satyr took hold of the troll's genitals, letting his fingers tug on the hefty sac before sliding them up to tightly grip the shaft and prop the hardening member upright before pulling downwards and fully exposing the raw flesh of the glans.

The troll inhaled sharply. He crossed his arms in an imposing manner, but the randy satyr was far more focused on the troll's impressive cock. "Rude little git. Do yeh mind?"

"I don't see any scars," Firvain remarked, turning the long, green shaft to the side with one hand and audaciously sliding his fingers into the troll's droopy foreskin with the other: the move made the troll's loose sac tighten right up.

"'Course there weren't no scarrin'. Said it was cut, not fired. I wanted to make sure it'd grow back, yeh fool." The troll's voice held a scathing tone. He was also breathing sharply through his nose, and still made no effort to stop the red-headed satyr's bold exploration. When Firvain squatted down, the merrow-troll even obliged him, widening his stance and leaning backwards against the railing of his bridge. His breathing was quite a bit more noticeable than before. "Yeh keep playin' with it like that, I ain't the one to blame if it spits on yeh."

"Having it spit in my mouth was what I wanted." Firvain held the bridge-builder's gaze, then playfully ran the tip of his tongue along the underside of the fat, pale green cock. The immediate hardening of the shaft made it clear how much the move was appreciated, so the satyr was more than happy to repeat the motion with the rest of the ridge around the glans. By the time he finished, a milky-white bead of semen glistened at the very tip of the troll's full-bodied erection.

Gripping the rigid shaft with both hands, he met the troll's gaze once more before closing his mouth around the semen-dipped tip. Then he did nothing but suckle and wait for the troll's response.

Said response mostly consisted of the troll making a tight gurgle in the back of his throat and his cockhead flaring between the satyr's teasing lips. "Yeh... yeh want to pay to slobber on my knob?" he stuttered in disbelief.

"Consider it an act of welcome." Firvain's smile was open enough to seem genuine, but the glint in his eyes told the true story. That and the fact that he barely paused his tonguing of the pale green tip of the merrow-troll's dick. The satyr greedily sucked the whole head into his mouth and tightened his lips, swirling his tongue around the smooth flesh before pulling back and releasing it with a satisfying pop.

He licked his lips, giving the bridgebuilder's rigidly stiff cock a few good tugs. "And maybe advance payment for my brothers as well," he added after some deliberation.

"Seh this is a satyr – whatsit, custom - then?"

"You could call it that," Firvain offered magnanimously, in between mouthing his way down the side of the long shaft to nibble at the folds of excess skin between shaft and scrotum.

The troll worked to catch his breath. "And by 'advance payment' yeh mean I gotta let yer satyr friends suck it too or somethin'?"

Bending the stiff shaft all the way down and letting it snap back up, the red-furred satyr took another long suck of the tip. He hadn't actually considered that the troll would take it seriously, but he had never denied a thirsty brother before! His tone, however, remained dry. "If any come along, it'd be appreciated I'm sure."

"And... it won't hurt or nothin'? Yer not about to sprout fangs and suck blood from my root are yeh?" The uncertainty coming from a muscled man large enough to toss Firvain in the river one-handed had its own certain kind of charm.

Letting the head snap from his mouth, the satyr took a moment to bury his face fully in the troll's hefty nuts. The troll was of a size that each testicle alone half-filled the satyr's mouth when he tried to swallow them. Practically buzzing, the freckled man quickly dug his tongue into the folds of the green sac, the pale green foreskin, and the glans of the shaft. The breath the troll sucked through his nose was a teat, but feeling the mighty shaft swell in his grip was pure pleasure.

Eventually, he remembered that the troll had asked him something. Firvain smirked up at the troll, the man's rod obscuring half his face. "I'm not that kind of fey," he murmured, before dragging his tongue down the full length of the shaft while his busy fingers wrangled the head.

After worrying his lower lip, the suspicion on the troll's seemed to evaporate a little more with each pass of the satyr's lips over the ridge of his glans. Casting an eye once more to the shank of mutton clutched firmly in Firvain's fist, the tall, lanky troll let out a sigh. "Yeh that hungry fer my root to spit a load in yer mouth, I ain't one to stop yeh."

Firvain let the troll take the mutton from him, though he paused in his appreciation of the man’s penis long enough to add a warning. "I’m not trading for you to just nut in my mouth, troll.“ His eyes held the troll’s gaze. "I said I wanted _meat_. You gotta _fill_ me." Then he dug his tongue into the excess skin that joined nuts to shaft.

A moan escaping him, the bridgekeeper sank his teeth into the mutton, eyes rolling back while he spread his legs. Firvain took full advantage of the opportunity to run his tongue down to the green-skinned man’s curiously hairless balls, the fat sacs twitching at the attention. The troll moaned again, louder this time, around his mouthful of meat, when the satyr finally took enough of his length that it struck the back of the red-furred fey’s throat. He chewed furiously, eyes fixed to the sight of the horned head that bobbed up and down his length with ease. 

Slurping noisily, Firvain pulled back to admire his handiwork. With its foreskin peeled back, glans spit-shined and on full display, the troll’s cock looked practically like a club, thick and weighty. He grinned, mouthing at it again. The huge, green-skinned man swallowed, breathing heavily. 

"‘Spose I can gape yeh hole if’n that’s what yer afteh,“ the troll offered, reaching with one of his long, spindly arms to finger the satyr’s butt. Firvain’s hips wiggled at the touch between his cheeks. 

Fingering had always been one of his weaknesses, and his hole was pliable enough that the troll was able to sink right in to the knuckle. The satyr squealed, his little goat-tail shooting straight upright. 

Mouth full of the troll’s silky glans, Firvain decided it was time to stop playing around, especially if he wanted to feel the beastly cock stretch his hole the same way it stretched his lips. He concentrated, relaxing both the muscles of his throat and his anus, in shuddering anticipation of stuffed to the brim with meat. 

The sudden swallowing of his manhood was enough to make the troll grasp both sides of the satyr's head and drive his wiry pubes into Firvain's nose before he regained control of his senses. He released the herald's head and tore the mutton from his mouth. "Sweet swamp-assed slags!" he swore, chewing the meat, "Yeh got a greedy mouth on yeh, satyr!"

Eyes glinting, Firvain stuck out his tongue and lapped the very tip of it, before he shoved forward a little and hooked his teeth about the glans. The troll winced at the roughness, even as a fresh pulse of troll pre-cum coated the satyr’s tongue. His hands went to the satyr’s shoulders, bracing himself on the against the greedy onslaught. 

The Queen’s herald kept one hand wrapped around the shaft, leaning forward to take the head down into his throat. He pulled back long enough to look up at him as he swirled his tongue under the foreskin and around the head. 

The troll‘s head hung backwards, jaw slack, and his breath speeding up. Reveling in the power he had over the huge man, the satyr slid his mouth down on him til it reached his hand. Then he turned loose from the shaft and continued to take him in his mouth, trying to get all the way to the coarse, dark-green bush at the bottom. 

A futile effort, sadly. Firvain wasn't able to get it all in his throat, so he settled for just sucking on it as he moved his head back and forth. His throat was so wet, so tight, however, that it only took a minute of that action before the satyr felt hands on the back of his head and the bridge-keeper‘s hips start moving. 

The leg of mutton clasped firmly between his teeth, the troll forgot all about his hunger in the face of the satyr’s single-minded determination. It was starting to matter less and less that it was a guy, and more and more that it was easily the best head the troll had gotten in his entire life. 

He was started to pick up speed with his thrusting, jerking the satyr's head forward with each thrust. Firvain reached around with both hands and grabbed his flat, lean asscheeks, running his hands over both of them, in a move that got the troll – surprisingly - even move excited. He started fucking Firvain’s mouth faster, shoving his cock in so far in that it was getting hard snatch air between thrusts. 

And the satyr still wasn’t taking it all. He couldn’t tell how much was left to go, but found out quick when the troll yanked his head forward at the same time as he thrust his dick deep as it could go into the herald’s throat. 

It went so far down his throat that he could _feel_ it bulge outward, his body reacting as though it had reach his stomach; gut heaving, lips strained, unable to breathe, even as his perky goat-tail shot ramrod straight in anticipation. 

It only took a few more of those slow, deep-dick thrusts before the huge, green-skinned man spasmed, the underside of his shaft pulsing against Firvain’s warm tongue. He first felt a spurt of seed directly down his throat. Then the troll was backing off, still spurting a viscous, salty trail across the entire length of the satyr’s tongue. When he pulled out, his shaft struck Firvain’s chest with a wet _smack_ , where it sprayed him with seed again, striking the underside of his chin. 

Firvain laughed, breathless, and tried to catch the head back in his mouth but the troll started fisting his cock instead, his whole body tensing before each spray of cum splattered the satyr’s lips, struck his chest, and tangled in his lightly-haired pecs. He joined the troll in trying to milk every drop out of that rod, one hand fondling the full, bouncing balls while his tongue lapped at the soaking-wet tip. Eventually the troll spasmed and dropped his fists to his sides, whereupon the Queen’s herald eagerly kept sucking. 

Whining, the troll moved his hands from the back of the saty’rs horned head to his shoulders, his legs shaking. Firvain half-thought for a minute he was going to fall down – it seemed that his widely-flared head got particularly sensitive after he came. 

With an effort of will, he backed off the smooth, silky glans, that marvelous foreskin, his mouth still full of troll-seed. Though he felt another pulse from the shaft, he ignored it, and was rewarded with the troll’s cock spitting another rope of cum across his cheek. 

He scrapped it off, opportunistically scooping semen from his chest, the glans, elsewhere, and lubing it across the fat shaft. He gave the rod a few tugs for good measure, before turning to press the tip of it between his cheeks. The cockhead was wide enough that it felt like a small fist was being forced in there, and he could resist the shiver of anticipation that coursed through him at just how much it was likely to hurt. Teasing himself like this was agony, but – as with every satyr – there was a certain element of sexual torture that had his dick stiff as a nail and his asshole throbbing. 

Two big green hands parting his cheeks to peer at where he’d aimed the over-sized, monster of a cock didn’t help any. 

"That's not all you got, is it?" the satyr teased, nudging only the very tip of the troll's cock into his anus.In that moment, the Queen’s herald was pretty sure he’d have accepted any order the troll gave him if it meant that he’d get stuffed the way he wanted.

Biting the bone in his mouth, the troll gripped Frivain's hips with both hands and eagerly slid the goat-man's hard butt down his long, fat shaft. Both men groaned appreciatively at the action, Firvain in pleasure at finally feeling his prostate get pummeled, and the troll in amazement at the clenched greediness of the satyr's hole.

"Gonna plant my root deep," the troll threatened, around the bone. He rocked himself back and forth in full, long-dick motion that had him falling in love with every inch of the satyr’s warm body, even going so far as to almost pull all the way out, then slide all the way back in. 

"Ugh, oooh noooo," Firvain mocked, wiggling his butt against the much bigger man. Still, he grunted when the troll gave him quick jab, his hooves clacking on the bridgestones as he steadied himself.

With a _crack_ , the bone clenched in the troll’s teeth split, though that didn’t slow his drive into the satyr’s guts. He just rolled the two broken halves to the front of his mouth, sucking out the marrow with the same practiced ease that the satyr had taken his cock. 

Now fully seated inside the goat-man’s furred rump, the bridgekeeper could barely keep his moan inside at how tightly the satyr was squeezing his cock. As much as his rod was pulsing and fighting with the tight hole, it felt like the satyr was the one that was winning. He just stood there, hands on the satyr’s trim waist, and let himself soak in the clutching heat of the fey’s insides.

Firvain just sighed, content with the size of the beast inside him. "I’m good, whenever you’re ready to show me what you can do, big guy.“

The troll began to thrust in and out, slowly at first, then with greater confidence when it was clear that the satyr’s little body could take it. Firvain was vocal in his encouragement, crowing louder and louder the deeper each thrust got. The troll spat the bone aside, reveling in the way his cock seemed to struggle with Firvain‘s tight hole, pressing close to his back, nearly smothering him with his long, wiry, but powerful, arms. 

The satyr ground his hips backwards, his hole practically _singing_ at how widely it was getting stretched. In this moment, he had absolutely no care, no thought to anything else but that the burning need he’d felt the past few days was finally getting sated. 

His asshole had a vise like grip on the troll’s cock, and the feeling was incredible. He worked his butt in time with each brutal thrust, shouting his encouragement, reaching behind to grab the troll’s neck for support. 

"Oh yeh fucking fey git,“ the huge bridgekeeper growled, ramming himself with a single-minded intensity. His long fingers squeezed at Firvain’s waist, his shoulders, his pecs. "Oh fuck. Ugh, aww..." The troll slowed, stopping to pace himself for a second before he started slamming himself forward gain, eager to fill the fey‘s asshole with cum. It had been a long time since he’d had pleasure this intense. Firvain could tell by the way he clutched at him that the troll’s mind had started to snap, and the quick staccato of breath on his neck meant that the guy had caught that spark of climax and was racing towards it. 

Knowing the thrusts would only get harder, Firvain eagerly placed his hands to the ground and braced himself – the move also spreading his cheeks just enough that his hole could swallow the last remaining inch of the dark green cock.

It also let the troll's fat nuts crack freely against the satyr's own dangling scrotum. The sharp pleasure-pain of the hefty sac slapping against his was enough to set the satyr over the edge. His angry red cock started spurting, staccato blasts that struck his furred pecs, his face, his throat, and chest, adding to the mess of saliva and troll semen already there. The satyr grimaced at the first blast, wrinkling his nose, but the deep thrusts had him grinning stupidly and not even minding when the cum on his chin wobbled and got in his nose. He worked the shaft sliding through him with the muscles of his hole, clenching and releasing every part of it with a loving tenderness – even as he forced himself backwards for more.

"Yer greedy as a seaside suckerfish!" the troll swore. Close, but needing a bit more stimulation after the satyr's greedy milking earlier, he flopped down on his back – pulling out completely. The troll's cock trailed a line of thick, viscous fluid from the satyr's ass, but remained stiff and ready to slide back in.

"What?" The satyr stumbled upright, his hooves clacking on the stone as he tried to maintain his balance after the loss of the troll's fleshy shaft. "Why did you -"

He started to ask why the fuck the troll pulled out, but the monstrous man ignored the red-headed satyr's confusion completely, simply snarling, "Yeh little butt-slut, get yer gobblin' hole down on my root!" Using the tensile strength of his incredibly long arms, the troll artlessly grabbed Firvain's hips and forced the poor satyr back down on his wrist-thick, cum-slick, hard-as-a-rock, uncut cock. 

"Oh I can't – AAAH!" Firvain cried, as the weight of his entire body contorted his battered guts against the troll's dick. From the stars shooting through his brain, and the following loss of vision, the satyr was reasonable certain the troll was about to make him cum again.

"Hoo, that's what I like teh feel." The troll's calloused green fingers, his two hands alone enough to completely encircle Firvain's waist, gripped hard enough to turn the satyr's flesh white. Worse, they held him in place as his insides writhed around the near arm's-length of troll meat inside him.

The first spurt of hot seed inside him didn't help matters any either. The troll continued to simply hold the satyr in place as each spurt soaked his innards and warmed his bruised flesh. In some ways, this was the cruelest torture of all, for the troll was in no hurry and came in the same slow, languorous manner that he had before: fully enjoying each long spurt of semen through the thick shaft lodged in Firvain's sorely-tested hole. With every lazy spurt a little more troll-seed slipped around the shaft, running down the heavy – now tensed – testicles that Firvain had spent so much time admiring earlier.

By the time the troll finished, Firvain's cock had gone soft and he could barely talk through the mess of cum on his chest, in his throat, buried in his ass. The shadows had lengthened significantly before the Forest Queen's herald was able to collect his senses – and find the troll's weighty shaft still twitching inside him, even as the merrow-blooded man continued to stroke his long-fingered hands up and down the satyr's sides appreciatively.

Heaving himself off of the cock buried to its base in his butt was one of the hardest things the satyr herald had done in an age. The feel of the damn thing sliding through him when he stood was almost enough to make him fall to his knees. As it was, he stumbled on shaky legs and only by catching the bridge's guardrail was he able to catch his breath. 

Firvain closed his eyes and struggled to find the strength to actually stand upright. _By Sylvanavar's sylvan grace_ – it felt like the troll's dick was still inside him, the way his insides slipped against themselves! And the amount of cum he could feel dripping out of his open hole...

Firvain grimaced, feeling his hole twitch and struggle to close. A ginger touch of his fingers to the swollen ring made his head snap straight up. The satyr made a pitiful noise and clutched at his butt to distract himself. Even the wiggle of his fleshy cheeks made him gasp.

"Fey take me," he breathed, falling back on an old human curse. The satyr leaned against the wooden railing, intent on simply getting his hole to stop sending raw nerve signals up his spine. If he didn't do something soon, he'd find himself back against the troll and forcing man's erection back up his ass.

Centering himself and remembering his mission helped, after some time. At least, it got his blood to stop buzzing and come down from the high of a fantastic fuck. Feeling back in control, Firvain turned to see how his most-recent conquest had fared.

Slumped against the railing of the bridge, cum streaked across his chest and dangling from his heavy nuts, the merrow-troll just lay there, stroking his sore, deflated cock with one hand. His loose foreskin slid back and forth over the head, pooling semen and contrasting the white fluid with the green flesh of the glans. Between the delectable look of the troll's penis and the sight of his nonchalance regarding the bands of cum – both his own and the satyr's – that coated his skin, Firvain lost all sense of himself for more than a few minutes.

"That's a good look for you," the satyr offered, appreciating the view.

The troll glanced at him, idly milking his half-hard dick. "Yeh comin' back this way?"

A long strand of cum wavered in the air between the troll's dick and his stomach. Even though he could still taste the man's seed every time he licked his lips, Firvain was sorely tempted to see if he couldn't pull at least one more mouthful. "I should be, yes," he responded, wondering if his hole was ready for more travel yet.

"How long'll that be?"

Firvain blew out his cheeks in thought. "I have to track down an out-of-the-way recluse named Oberon and then get up to the Greatbriar Circle on Ithial-Raindoor to let then know about the Green Moot. It should take me the better part of the week."

"Yeh come back this way in a week, then; stay the night with me. I'll ruin that hole again for yeh." 

Firvain nearly snorted. He'd heard that one before, only to have the man collapse in the first row and be unable to perform for the rest of the night. Something must have shown on the satyr's face, because the troll with the smooth-skinned cheeks was quick to go on. "Swear on my honor as a bridgebuilder, I'll plant my root so deep yeh'll have troll on yer breath for weeks." He even placed two fingers to his heart, in an imitation of the Forest Queen's salute.

It was the salute that really did him in. Well, that, and the fact that he'd already proven himself able to rut like a winter wolf and stay hard as an oak through it all. The redhead's mouth curled in glee before he composed himself.

"If I’m in the mood for another scenic meal." Firvain shouldered his satchel and stepped closer to kneel and tug at the troll's meaty, semi-hard cock. "Take care of this rod till I get back. I want to see just how good you really are." 

The satyr had intended to simply pull away then, but to his surprise the troll snapped out one long arm and caught him by the back of the neck. He pulled the smaller man in for a hard, hungry kiss – much sloppier than even Firvain was used to, but the dexterous tongue and powerful lips were a heady combination. The slimly muscled satyr was nearly melted into the troll's long chest by the time the bigger man released his grip and let him push away. The move smeared the semen on the troll's hand all the way down Firvain's back, but neither noticed nor cared. Instead, Firvain just licked his lips, getting the taste of the troll's tongue out of his mouth, and nodded a goodbye.

With that, the satyr herald rose and set off across the remainder of the bridge, deliberately not looking back. Couldn't let the bridgebuilder think that Firvain had already taken that promise hook, line, and sinker – no, it was better to let the man think he had to work for it.

He was also struggling to contain the joy of finally gotten a good fuck for the first time in a week. At least, the first since he'd parted ways with those eager elvish rangers on the far side of the Ithial Wood. The revitalized satyr was nearly quivering by the time he got to the woods on the far side of the river, and when he judged himself to be far enough away that the troll would not have chanced to see him, he drummed his bare chest in uncontrollable glee. If only every day was as good as this one, Firvain thought to himself, alternately pleased and dissatisfied with the rigors of being one of the Forest Queen's heralds. He had friends back home who barely went beyond the bounds of the glades they were born in, and all they did was laze about and jerk off all day. Of course, if he were to do that, he'd never encounter near as many of the delightful cocks as he had on his herald routes. And he was absolutely certain he'd never have gotten to have as many trolls nut inside him as he had since becoming a herald officially. In fact, he was hard-pressed to think of any regrets about his current life at all.

The satyr stretched his arms high above his head, arching his back before bringing his hands down to rub appreciatively over the hard, round mounds of his butt. He was immensely satisfied with how this day was turning out. His hole was rent open and sore, he had cum in both his belly and his butt, and the promise of more of that viscous troll-seed in the future.

As tempting as it was to turn back and play with the troll for a few more hours, the satyr knew he couldn't spare the time. Dallying with those paladins in the vain hope that one of them might throw a fuck his way had eaten up a lot of his extra days. "Lace-lashing prudes," the satyr muttered under his breath. It was so rare to see humans in his part of the woods that he had been taken in by their broad bodies and, strangely, cut cocks, but even though he had spent a full day and two nights with them, he had been forced to move on with nothing to show for it. Not even a quick rub from any of them, despite the straining bulges and clear yearning on no few of their faces when he'd left.

Honestly, he wasn't certain if it was the fact that they were human or if it was that they were human paladins that made them have such hang-ups about sex. Certainly none of the human druids, who were just as devoted to the gods, had ever shown the same reservations about sex.

The anger written on Frivain's face started to dissipate the thought of the upcoming Green Moot. He'd had a lot of great, great encounters at every Moot he'd heralded for – in fact, he couldn't think of one time he hadn't left satisfied. Even last year, when that young wildshaper kept trying to turn into a wolf and knot inside him.

"Ooo," the satyr breathed, feeling his hole clench at the memory of when the young druid finally managed it. Had come at a complete surprise to both of them, right at the upthrust of the human's cock against the randy satyr's prostate. The explosion of bulbous flesh inside him nearly made Firvain piss himself when he came, but the poor guy had suffered worse, gasping and howling for nearly a minute before he remembered how to shift back and rip his aching cock free.

Still, even with the young druid curled up and whimpering, Firvain had had an absolutely fantastic time. He ran his tongue against his lower lip and grinned, rubbing his right hand over his left pectoral. Maybe, if he was lucky, he might meet a druid before he found this Oberon fellow – Firvain slowed suddenly.

A druid! The satyr nearly slapped himself. That's why the name was so familiar! Firvain had met him before! At the fall solstice three years ago. A half-elf, unusually big and so broad that the satyrs had all teased him about being half-bear instead of half-human. The man's build applied to his cock too. Not very long, but hog-thick and the druid practically used it as a club. One of the reasons he was so memorable.

The other reason had been his unusually strong insistence on his fetish. Oberon had been firm, Firvain recalled, on his fucking only butts that had already been caked in cum.

The satyr had been catching his breath after enticing two elf-knights to double-team him. He'd underestimated their stamina - and the damage their two dicks, though slender, could wreck on his ass. He'd stumbled away from the pair after they both dumped a load in him and braced himself against a tree when suddenly he felt two big hands grip his cheeks and the thickest cock he'd taken in a long time stuff itself in his cum-slicked hole.

"Been waiting for those two to finish," the druid murmured, as Firvain made a heroic effort not to scream. Fortunately, the man was happy to just let his dick soak.

"Not even going to introduce yourself?" Firvain asked, when he finally caught his breath.

"I didn't want any more cum to slip out. Besides, you didn't seem like the type to care," the half-elf answered, mouthing the satyr's neck. Firvain laughed, grinding his pert butt against the druid so hard his ass was scraping the man's pubes. 

"You're right, I don't!" he exclaimed. "But I'm surprised you didn't at least want give me something to yell when you make me cum!"

That got a reaction out of the half-elf man. He leaned forward and wrapped his burly arms around the fit satyr and clutched him to his chest. "Well, if you promise to scream it, I guess I could tell you. Oberon."

"Pleasure to meet you, Oberon," the satyr purred. "You like your holes filled with seed before you plant your rod?"

"Maybe." The poor man sounded embarrassed at having gotten caught out. He didn't say anything more, but neither was Firvain about to let him off the hook. He was just as content to let the the druid's cock soak in the elf-seed currently lubing his hole. "And you?" Oberon finally asked, overcoming his shyness. "You going to introduce yourself, satyr?"

Firvain smirked. "No." Oberon started to growl, but it ended in a whine as another satyr forced his cock between the druid's hairy cheeks.

Firvain recognized the new satyr's appreciative groan. "'That you, Vondre?"

"You know it, Ferv," Firvain's white-furred, black-haired friend crowed. Then he brought his hand down hard on the half-elf druid's muscular ass. "Oh, by the Forest Queen's tits you're tight!" Vondre worked his dick in a little deeper, prompting new whines from the half-elf druid, but he ignored them. "Has this guy told you about what he likes yet Ferv? For all his talk about loving seed and holes, I don't think this soil has been planted once yet tonight."

The hiss escaping from Oberon's clenched teeth certainly confirmed that. "Oh, you're going to rue this, Vondre," he snarled menacingly. Vondre just laughed and ground his dick into the half-elf's hole.

"Maybe you'll think twice about stuffing your own cock in new places, just because they're seeded hmm? There was a snow elf I had my eye on, elfling. Your interference saw him sandwiched by two erlkings by the time I got you to spill your druidic oil."

Firvain chuckled as he reflected on that night. By Sylvanavar's grace, _damn_ but that had been a good Solstice. 

Oberon had spent nearly the whole night with them – more than willing to take a cock or two if it meant getting thrust into a semen-filled hole. His fetish was so strong that Vondre even got him to let those two erlkings both force their meaty poles inside his hairy hole and just split the half-elf open on the promise that the white-furred satyr would let the druid ride his butt after Vondre's snow elf took him. Firvain had no doubt that the druid would be unable to resist the temptation of a troll-seeded hole. Provided he was able to keep any more of the troll's cum from dribbling down his haunches.

He did have an answer for that on-hand, however. In his handy haversack, like any good satyr, he did have a smooth, fired-clay plug to stuff in his butt, should the need ever arise. He reached in and pulled the rounded toy out, weighing the benefits of stuffing it in now against the annoyance of hoofing through the foothills with a hard bulb rubbing against his prostate. He pursed his lips.

Well, it would mean walking with stiff cock for the rest of the day, but it'd hardly be the first time he'd suffered in pursuit of a good fuck. Firvain squatted and forced the plug in with a grunt, his dick stiffening as the smooth head slid through his hole. _Sylvanavar's bollocks,_ he swore to himself, regretting once again how much time he'd wasted on those humans. He let his fingers rest on the flared end of the plug, wiggling it until it was flush with the rim of his hole. When he was sure it was in place, he took a steadying breath and stood.

The motion made him hiss. It had been a long time since he'd last used it. His pert, satyr butt was clenching in protest. The only thing he could do was slip his hands under his little tuft of a tail and – gently! – massage the hairless parts of his cheeks. When he finally felt his ass start to relax he stopped rubbing his hole, made another stretch of his arms above his head, and took a careful step forward.

He glanced down at his erection and smirked before spitting on it and giving it a few hard tugs for good measure. Yeah, the hike through the western side of the forest with a plug in his ass wouldn't be his preferred way of doing it, but if it meant getting that bear-elf's dick then he'd happily suffer through.

Depending on Oberon's duties, he might even be willing to accompany the satyr back to the troll's bridge after the rest of the messages had been delivered. The thought of the two men rubbing their weighty dicks together – much less fucking him one after the other – was enough to vitalize the satyr, so much so that he immediately set off with a bounce in his step and his tail arched proudly. This might actually be one of his most enjoyable herald routes yet, he thought to himself, a wicked grin on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> Shadowknight is an amazing DM who opened DnD to me almost 10 years ago and I've been enjoying it every day of my life ever since! 
> 
> If you liked this, even as just a one-hander, let me know so I know to write more <3


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